Missed the Bus
by arbailey
Summary: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Missed the Bus

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 2,862

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later)

SUMMARY: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.

SPOILERS: All of season one. Makes an ungodly mess of the timeline for season two.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

_"Missed the Bus": an American idiom meaning either _

_1. to have missed or lost some opportunity or _

_2. to have failed to understand something._

* * *

CHAPTER 1 - The Fight

"I kept thinking that if I just stuck by you, that you'd get past this-this phase and you'd be you again." This is all so tragically clichéd. She's practically wringing her hands, and she hates, HATES the tone she can hear in her voice. She sounds petulant and angry when all she really is, is scared. Terrified she's going to lose him to the maelstrom he's creating around himself.

"Are you breaking up with me?" The world around him has begun to waver like a dream sequence, and he's praying he's about to wake up. A film has fallen over his eyes, and he can't really see her clearly anymore. He's just getting the suggestion of movement, the impression of flight.

She pauses, swallowing her words compulsively. They catch in her throat. She means it - she wants to say it - she's almost positive she wants to say it... But if she says it in the middle of a fight, it'll just mean desperation anyway… "This can't continue! Not with you and your toadies cruising around at night and hatching plans, refusing to let everything get back to normal. Someone's gonna get killed, Logan."

It's like he's not registering anything she's saying, glaring wild eyed around the room.

"Someone already has, did you forget that already? And most of the people in this town think I did it. Those people you call "toadies" are my friends; they've got my back." Why can't she hear how desperate he is even though all the bravado? What he means is: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't leave. I'll do anything. But the actual words- those won't come. Apologies he's never been able to do, somehow. God if he could take it all back, if he could make this summer a bad dream… But that's impossible.

"It's not about protection, Logan. It's about pride! And, the thing that I can't stand is that…I'm pretty sure there's a part of you that's having fun with all of this."

Suddenly she understands the phrase "a piercing expression" all too well. She is in actual physical pain feeling his gaze cut into her.

"Fun? FUN? My mom is dead! My girlfriend is dead! My dad is a murderer! And the only person I still care about is dumping me. You think I'm having fun?" He spits the words at her, and she can't breathe.

She's been inhaling tiny breaths in quick succession trying to calm her panic. Her lungs feel as if they'll burst, but she knows if she exhales she'll begin sobbing uncontrollably.

This wasn't supposed to be an ultimatum. This wasn't supposed to be an end, but she's thrown by his words. _My girlfriend is dead…_ She's never going to supplant that other blonde in his brain. And the more she reflects, the more she feels the fool for even trying, for believing in anything but expedience and loneliness bringing them together.

She slumps back against one arm of the couch as he throws himself up off the other. He's gesturing wildly, and she's suddenly just so tired. Her bones ache. His hand connects with edge of an unsuspecting lamp, and it crashes to the floor, glass splintering. The sound snaps them both back into the room.

"I'm done," he murmurs, the anger beginning to drain from him as he grabs his jacket and heads for the door.

She doesn't say anything more as he storms out, doesn't try to stop him. The door slams, rattling the blinds. She sits on the couch for a moment or two before standing up and grabbing the broom and dustpan from the closet. She's still cleaning up the shards when her father walks in from his evening stakeout.

"What happened here!?" Keith demands, "You breakin' up the joint?"

"Butterfingers," simpers Veronica trying to sound playful and only getting halfway there, waggling her fingers in the air.

Keith can tell she's out of it. "What's up" he asks, his voice suddenly serious and full of fatherly concern.

"Logan and I broke up," she sighs wearily.

"Ah kid, I'm so sorry," Keith wraps his arm around her for a quick squeeze of the shoulders, his chin resting on the top of her head.

She twists under him, quirks an eyebrow, and gives him a sardonic smile. "You devious old fraud. You're not sorry."

"Nah," he agrees. "But I'm sure he is. Or he will be."

"Well," says Veronica, raising an invisible glass, "here's to hoping he's marinating in self loathing."

Keith raises his own invisible drink. "Salud!"

And as he screams away in his conspicuously yellow SUV, there is plenty of loathing in Logan Echolls although he hasn't quite worked his way down to self loathing yet.

He has to work his way past his father for fucking up absolutely everything, and his mother for leaving him, and his dead girlfriend and her very-much-alive beaner piece on the side, and the rest of the Mexican grease monkeys who- by the way- Veronica just sided with. He's got all this nervous energy, and he feels like his skin is trying to crawl off to weep in a corner.

Where does she get off, blaming any of this on him? He's just an innocent bystander who might have accidentally kicked a gang leader in the face one night on the Coronado Bridge. An injured party who may have extracted a small measure of revenge by lightly toasting the local pool.

But it's burning out fast, the righteous anger, and he knows he's gonna miss it when it's gone because then he's gonna be left there with the nagging suspicion that the tiny blonde one was right. And he's just lost what ballast he had left to keep him from capsizing.

* * *

THREE WEEKS LATER

She's been seeing Duncan every day at the Hut. He and Meg broke up the last week of school. She steadfastly refuses to believe the reason is the revelation that she's not his sister. Because that would mean it's her fault the only decent 09er in town is hurting, and she just can't have that on her shoulders right now.

Still, it's nice to see him and his undemanding smiles. She misses the girl she was with him. That Veronica was so uncomplicated, focused. She didn't pick people apart into their constituent parts. She had all this boundless trust. She was likable. She liked everyone in turn.

That Veronica never once accused ANY of the men she loved of either rape OR murder, and... Oh. My. God. Does she miss that.

And as proud as she is of the girl she is now, with her acid tongue and her almost superhuman ability to turn contempt into fuel, Veronica can't help but be nostalgic.

When he gives her the fortune cookie for her birthday, she's grateful, and giddy, and a little dizzy. Could it be that easy to reclaim a measure of the past? So she grabs unto him. Like he's a life raft.

And maybe he is, because she's been floundering without Logan. Not that she thinks she was wrong. Logan is headed in a dangerous direction, but he's made it very clear he's not interested in her assistance, her love, her… Anything.

Against all her better judgment, she's been waiting. She's nearly broken down and called him on a dozen occasions. But the only thing no one has ever taken from Veronica is her pride, and maybe that's not a record she's willing to break. Not even for him.

And Duncan is easy. He's so relaxed and self assured. He never questions his own good fortune, never second guesses himself. Veronica vacillates between finding this comforting and supremely irritating. But he feels so guilty for last year, for the time they lost and the way he washed his hands of her, that he trips over himself being accommodating and thoughtful.

He's working hard to re-create sophomore bliss, to forget that last year ever happened. And Veronica is grateful for the blank slate she's been given, but… She can't forget what happened. And doesn't want to, really. It's in the past, but that doesn't make it history.

Her re-entrance into 09er society has been unbelievably awkward. Nobody actually says anything to her, obviously. Duncan is still king around here, after all, and none of the pretty little rich kids are sure exactly how to treat her.

Is she still an unloyal slut? Is she back to being minor royalty? Are they going to have to pick a side in the Echolls-Kane feud? No one seems clear on where the boundaries are, and Veronica can hardly blame them: she's not sure either.

Of course, Duncan doesn't seem to notice the awkwardness, or else he's very good at pretending. And that is entirely possible. He's always been very good at whitewashing over the elements of the world he finds unappealing. So they're pressing forward, hand-in-hand, and playing the part of any sickeningly cute couple.

Part of the get-back-to-normal campaign is engaging, as a couple, in normal, teenage extracurricular activities. Which includes the oh-so-scintillating Future Business Leaders of America. Pretending to invest imaginary money along with the sons of Neptune's finest while PowerPoint presentations play dimly in the background doesn't exactly excite, but Duncan is trying so hard she feels honor bound to at least make an attempt at being an attentive and appreciative girlfriend.

However, the afternoon she and Duncan walk in together to find the only available seats on either side of Logan, she's finding it especially difficult to pretend. Logan throws them a contemptuous glance before picking up his lunch and tossing it down on the farthest desk, leaving a pair of seats together.

Veronica sits as far as she can from the angry young man and smiles wanly at Duncan who sits between them with a heated glance for his erstwhile best friend. This fierceness is something she doesn't see much out of Duncan anymore, and she's startled by this flash of fury.

She's seeing elements of last year's lover boy, and as much pain as that boy gave her, she's sort of pleased he's not all sweetness and light. He can pretend as much as he likes, but she's not the only one who's been changed by the past two years.

She's been zoning out on the conversation thus far, and when she refocuses they're talking about- of all things- a sailboat.

"Is that a Swan 40?" asks Duncan gesturing to the photo pinned up by Mr. Pope's desk.

"Yeah, nice, huh? From 1971," says Mr. Pope with obvious pride. "I, ah, I would have retired earlier, but actually the, uh, the restoration's been tricky. We had to reseal the hull twice."

Logan's eyes glint brutally as he smirks at Duncan, "Didn't plug her right the first time, huh?"

There's a beat and then Dick Casablancas is snickering loudly. Another beat and Duncan has Logan by the collar, and they're spinning into the hall grappling with each other. Duncan slams Logan up against a locker while Logan flails his fists into Duncan's back. One more beat and they're both on the ground laying into each other for all they're worth.

Mr. Pope wades into the fray, yelling and pulling each boy to their feet before shoving them, both bloody, towards the nurse's office. Stunned, Veronica follows a few paces behind and ducks into an empty classroom as Mr. Pope leaves the office and heads back towards the FBLA, muttering. She pops out of the darkened classroom and hovers just outside the nursing station door while the nurse patches up the warriors.

"Well, I can tell you one thing: whoever it is you're fighting over, she won't be very impressed by this," mutters the nurse, disgusted with her charges. "And you're done. I believe the principal is waiting for you," she says to Duncan before turning to Logan and grumbling, "I'll be back for you."

Veronica ducks back into the shadows as the angry woman stomps by in her squeaky sensible shoes. Veronica's not exactly sure why she's sneaking, maybe it's simply force of habit, but she stalks up to the doorway and leans against the lockers just outside and listens in.

"Actually, I disagree with Nurse Ratched," says Logan, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I think Veronica would have been quite impressed. Probably a little turned on too."

Veronica sucks in her breath at his words, suddenly forced to examine exactly what that healthy surge of blood in her pulse points really signifies. She doesn't like this side of herself- the violent, vengeful girl who sometimes seems to wear her skin- but she can't deny the triumphant little thrill she's feeling. Logan knows her so much better then he has any right to.

Duncan's tone is low and fierce as he returns, "Careful, Logan. You're exposing your soft underbelly."

"My underbelly is rock-hard. It can go all night." It'd sound like a joke if Logan didn't have that undercurrent of menace in his voice.

Duncan's trying to keep it civil, rational, when he says, "You lost her; I didn't steal her." She can hear Logan bounce off the exam table.

All the indolent posturing is gone now. "Oh, hell with Veronica. She's in the rear-view mirror. Where were you this summer, man?"

Duncan's reply is terse. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, remember, there was this little situation? I was accused of murder? I am the eye of a storm and I never heard from you. It is a war out there and you're on the sidelines? Do you remember when you used to have my back?"

The hurt in Logan's tone is overwhelming, but Duncan's not really prepared to surrender his anger just yet. "Yeah, wait, I do remember this summer. I was dealing with this thing, what was it? Oh, yeah, I remember now. Your dad murdered my sister."

Veronica can hear Ms. Squeaky Shoes coming up the hallway, so she high tails it to the relative safety of a nearby janitor's closet with the door left open just a crack. "The principal's waiting, young man," the nurse says thickly in the distance. Duncan is striding through the doorway when she hears Logan quietly murmur, "I hate him too, you know."

So there. None of this is really about her. Intellectually, Veronica knows that this is a good thing; that these best friends have had everything stripped from them, and they need each other. But a little piece of her she didn't know she was still carrying around is hurt. He's definitely done with her.

Logan cares for her so little that even his always overactive jealousy can't be engaged. She's glad they've made nice. And she decides to get the hell out of there before she has to speak to either of them.

* * *

A/N: I'm back! With a new story! After a mere 6 months! I like exclamation points! But seriously folks... This is MOSTLY written this time. The first 5 chapters are ready to go, and a majority of the rest of the story is in place. I have a few scenes to flesh out, a few set pieces to insert, but this is mostly done! And because of this unusual turn of events, I propose a new posting model: I will post a new chapter every other Sunday without fail no matter what. Every two weeks you will get a new chapter. Or, if I get 25 reviews on the chapter, I will shorten that interval to one week. If I get 50 reviews, I will automatically put up a new chapter, whatever day it is.

On one hand, I feel a little bit scummy shilling for reviews. On the other, I love getting reviews SO MUCH and they are such a nice confidence boost that I kinda want to maximize what I can get. I am NOT holding these chapters for ransom - you'll get them no matter what - but I'm letting you guys decide how quickly you get them. Anyway, at least you know you'll get a new chapter every two weeks. That's a sight better than my last posting schedule! In any event, I hope you enjoy this new story, and I'll see you in two weeks! Or maybe sooner :D


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: Missed the Bus

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 2,070

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later)

SUMMARY: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.

SPOILERS: All of season one. Makes an ungodly mess of the timeline for season two.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

_"Missed the Bus": an American idiom meaning either _

_1. to have missed or lost some opportunity or _

_2. to have failed to understand something._

CHAPTER 2 - The Break-up

As the days pass by, the fight weighs on her. Old Veronica would have been horrified. She SHOULD be horrified. But she's not that girl anymore, no longer safely isolated from violence by youth and privilege. But New Veronica, well… Logan was right. She got off on that fight. Just a little.

Duncan's back to his usual smooth faced innocence, the fight forgotten. He's all soft kisses and sweet gestures. And it's adorable, and she's grateful, really, but… She won't let herself finish the thought. This is what she dreamed of for over a year. This is the man she loved- sorry, slip of the tongue- loves. This is what she wanted back. The peace, the ease, the innocence. But though Duncan's back, he hasn't brought those with him.

When they sleep together for the first time- everyone fully consciously anyway- it's stiff and awkward. The whole thing feels patently ridiculous. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, and every move is clumsy and uncomfortable. Sleeping against him, her head pillowed on his chest, Veronica feels… In all honesty, she doesn't feel much. This should be a milestone, an event that will hold some kind of claim. But there's nothing.

And she's feeling stupid, held tight against him. There's a part of her that thought that if she could make this work, then maybe that first time wasn't a violation. Just a deeply unfunny courtship story they could never tell the grandchildren. And yeah, they were both victims, and there's more than enough blame for everyone involved to get seconds, but…

So she loved him, once. But she doesn't love him now, or not the way that she did. There is affection here but no grand passion. Now passion… Passion is something she remembers like a tight knot, burning and… No. What would be the point of dwelling on what she can't have? She's only a masochist on Thursdays. But just the knowledge that that kind of passion exists, well… It makes her realize she can't stay.

He's not what she wants. And she can see that he's missing cotton sundresses. He's missing a girl who's just as dead as his sister, however much blood still pumps in her veins. This new girl, she's bitter, and arch, and severe, and although she laughs all the time, there isn't the kind of softness and innocence he remembers there. She catches him sneaking looks at her, and the boy always looks bewildered. What happened to the Ronnie he knew? She's tired of disappointing him and tired of being disappointed.

Meanwhile, Duncan's growing steadily more unhappy. Meg's looking drawn and pale; she hasn't spoken to him in weeks but something is definitely wrong. He's having dreams about both of them, and the symbolism is depressingly unsubtle when Meg begs for his help in white and Veronica mocks her sentimentality in black. Duncan's getting more and more nervous as he tosses on the horns of a terrible dilemma.

When V goes to see him that night at The Neptune Grand, she makes it easy for him. She says all the clichéd things, but it doesn't matter. They'll serve. And he tries to be upset, but that weight is lifting. She pretends not to notice. If there is anything she is becoming a pro at, it's bowing out with as much of her dignity as she can scrounge.

In the hall outside his room she lets herself go for just a second, leaning back against the expensive modern wall paper, mourning the girl in the cotton sundress and her perfect boyfriend. But it's only a second- not even enough time for her eyes to fill- before he's there, the other boy, at the door of room 1147, filling up the corridor with his loose-limbed scorn. Logan stalks down the hall, straightening his clothes, and smirking interminably.

"Hmmm… what's different about you? Did you cut your hair or something?" He's leaning against the wall tying his shoes.

She can't look at him, she can feel the flush on her collarbones and the last thing she needs right now is him pushing his way into still open wounds. He takes her silence for embarrassment, and it is, but not for the reasons he thinks.

"Uh, FYI, if the cuddling is the best part, he didn't do it right."

She doesn't say a word. There's nothing to say, and as the elevator closes on that leer, she finally exhales. She hadn't even realized she was holding her breath. She doesn't know why she does it, but she calls for room 1147. Mrs. Casablancas answers, and Veronica hangs up the phone with a sharp click. It stings, but she's relieved too. Better the devil you know. And maybe just better to know in general. He's proving harder to shake then she could have ever believed. It's time to banish those lingering romantic notions and finally brush the dust off. She squares her shoulders, rounds the corner, and punches the down arrow.

Several floors below in the elevator, Logan's going out of his brain. He'd been so good about avoiding her. There's got to be somewhere in this town he can go where she can't fucking find him, can't insinuate herself under his eyelids. Kendall can push her into the dark recesses, but only for the time it takes him to get off. Then there she is, upsetting the afterglow. Only this time it's up close and in person. And he feels like he's been sucker-punched, because there's only one reason you slink out of a hotel room at 2 AM. He ought to know.

* * *

Duncan hears a one-sided, murmured conversation in the halls, but his thoughts are elsewhere as he dials Meg's number. She picks up on the second ring, and Duncan is startled. He was sure this would go right to voice mail. It is 2 AM, after all.

"Duncan?" she hisses out through the hotel phone's earpiece.

He can hear the confusion in her voice, but there is something behind it too. It sounds like longing, and his heart leaps. To be longed for. God, he can barely remember that feeling. He loves Veronica, but he couldn't stand the way she looked at him anymore. Like she couldn't quite trust him, like her smiles were conditional. Like he's the sweet neighborhood dog that out of nowhere bit her hand. But what happened, all of it… It wasn't his fault. He'll spend the rest of his life loving her, regretting what he's done to her, but he can't give up on the idea of a happy ending for himself.

"Baby?" he says, like it's a question, like he's not the one who called. Or maybe he's just asking for permission. "I've missed you," she murmurs into the phone, and he says, "I've got to see you." "NOW!?" Meg hisses, with as much volume as she dares. She tries to sound scandalized, but she's thrilled and he can tell. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Leave your window open." He moves about the suite, dressing and gathering his keys. He finally feels like he's moving forward.

He pulls up behind the tall garden wall of the Manning house, well away from prying eyes. He hoists himself up over the wall and stalks through the grass until he reaches the tree underneath her window. Climbing up, he feels heroic and romantic. The simple muslin curtains twist in the breeze as he gently pushes them out of the way, and pulls himself into her room.

She standing there just inside the window, looking like a character in a Norman Rockwell painting in her long white night gown, and she catches him when he fumbles a little at the drop. Suddenly they're staring into each other's eyes, and they're both smiling. He cups his hand against her cheek and kisses her. Her mouth opens against his, and he can feel himself falling into her, consumed by her. It's heaven.

He'd been trying to pinpoint the thing that made Meg indefinably perfect- that made his relationship with Veronica completely untenable – and he's finally uncovered it. He should have recognized it that day after Logan's surprise party and every moment since because he's felt it every time he looks at her. That priceless thing: her capacity to forgive him, effortlessly.

It's true that Veronica has tried to forgive him. And it's equally true that he has no right to EXPECT forgiveness from anyone, but when he sees the almost beatific way Meg is smiling at him...

Suddenly he hears a muffled crying and he tenses. "What was that!?"

Meg's smile is gone, and that drawn look he'd been seeing on her face at school is back. "Grace, well… She broke one of Mother's tea cups this afternoon. And she stumbled over her Psalm at dinner. Father set her to writing lines. She's been in there for hours…" Meg is all but sobbing now, silently shaking against him.

Duncan can hardly comprehend what she's saying. He'd known the Mannings were religious, but he'd no idea quite how fundamentalist they were in their discipline. "In where?" he questions, "What do you mean?" Meg hiccups twice quietly, trying to get herself under control, "There is a little space, behind the closet, where Grace has to serve out her penances…"

Duncan pulls her close, and for a moment she collapses against him. Suddenly he can feel tension in her shoulders. He can almost feel her trying to shrink into herself, to disappear from him. "Meg?" She exhales quickly, all the breath leaving her in a single huff, and she sits perfectly still for a beat, then two. "Meg?" he says again, panicking slightly.

"I'm pregnant."

It's interesting because she said it so quietly, under her breath, but the words rush through his brain like a great screaming wind. Suddenly, she's hysterical.

"They're going to kill me. They're going to kill me and they're going to take my baby and they're going to lock it in a closet. I can't stay here I can't stay here I have to go. But then Grace will have no one I can't leave Grace they're going to kill me and they're going to…"

Duncan is rubbing circles into her shoulder blades and shushing her, a stricken look on his face that she can't see because she has buried her face in his chest. "You'll be fine. We'll be fine. No one is going to hurt our baby. We'll protect Grace and Lizzie. It'll be fine."

She glances up at him through tears, wet eyelashes, and blonde bangs strewn haphazardly over her brow and looks at him blearily. She's comforted by his words and his arms, and it's a good thing his image was so fuzzy through those tears or she'd have seen the terror barely masked by his smile. "We'll be fine," he whispers again, struggling to think of a way out of this mess, of someone who can help them... Only one name comes to mind...

A/N: Already breaking my promises! Still, only one day late, hopefully I haven't earned tarring and feathering just yet. This is a bit of a shorter chapter, but such is the way of things when you write the whole (or even just most) of the story at the outset! These scene breaks fall where they may, I'm afraid. 'Course that means you get occasional longer chapters too, so swings and roundabouts... Thanks for all your kind support and nice words, everybody. Feedback is love!


	3. Chapter 3

TITLE: Missed the Bus

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 3,676

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later)

SUMMARY: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.

SPOILERS: All of season one. Makes an ungodly mess of the timeline for season two.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

_"Missed the Bus": an American idiom meaning either _

_1. to have missed or lost some opportunity or _

_2. to have failed to understand something._

Chapter 3 - The Favor

Veronica walks into class and does an honest-to-god double take, amazed. It's entirely possible that Meg has some kind of superhero-like ex-sense because she and Duncan are clearly back together. Veronica tries not to be annoyed or hurt, but- she can admit it- it niggles. Veronica did the dumping, and she's not sorry, but this is almost unseemly haste. Surely the death of first love should be properly mourned? But then, maybe she'd feel differently if someone had been waiting in the wings to pick her up…

It was a mistake to take Journalism, she knows that now, but she'll be damned if she can be run out of the one place where a photography assignment doesn't involve skulking. Meg and Duncan are standing near and being so gentle with each other, it's heartbreaking. They both look fragile and shy and, for all the good she wishes them, Veronica needs to turn away. Abruptly, Meg pulls away from Duncan's and smiles tightly. "I'll be right back," and she turns on her heels with surprising speed and heads towards the bathroom with her hand clutched to her mouth.

Veronica watches her flight with interest, but Duncan shrugs his shoulders and smiles as if mystified. Veronica can see tightness in his jaw.

"Duncan, that's…What I mean is…Is Meg..." Has she suddenly become a big day drinker? Does she have a stomach virus? Is there any chance that it's lactose intolerance for the cheese in the breakfast burritos? NO, of course not. There is no tactful way to ask, and Duncan's panicky look tells her all she needs to know. _Pregnant._

"I didn't know when we got together, I promise you!" His concern for her sense of propriety is sweet. "Veronica, it's just… You can't imagine…" He stops, and takes a deep breath. "You know what crazies her parents are. They don't know, and they can't find out. Which means Lizzie can't know, NOBODY can know. We're trying to figure out a situation for her with her aunt up in Seattle, but until then, can we maybe keep the whole thing secret?"

"Well, of course," says Veronica, puzzled and slightly hurt by his lack of faith. "I mean, who am I gonna tell?"

Duncan looks like he is in physical pain, and says, smiling ruefully, "It's actually a little more than that... What I mean is, can you not mention that YOU and I aren't together. If I spend any time with Meg and I'm not "dating" you, there's no way her parents won't hear about it. They'll ship her off to some halfway home for unrepentant sinners, and I'll NEVER see her again. Or our baby."

Veronica has no problem with lying for either fun or profit, but this doesn't feel like it's going to be either. She lets out a long sigh, and runs her fingers through her hair. There's that deep fatigue again. She can feel it running with the marrow in her bones. Sometimes it is so hard to remember she's only eighteen.

She owes Meg, that much she knows, and what better way to say "Sorry for stealing your boyfriend from you while you were pregnant" than by taking part in a huge charade designed to fool the world into believing you're still with him.

"Fine. But no funny stuff," she finally grumps, begrudgingly.

His relief is palpable. Meg's returned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, looking drained and uncomfortable with the proximity of Duncan and Veronica. She sidles over to the pair, her smile tight.

"Veronica's agreed to help," Duncan whispers enthusiastically.

"That's great," Meg whispers back. But "great" isn't exactly the vibe she's giving off. Duncan's forehead creases in confusion and concern, and Veronica smiles wearily, stunned once again by the boy's incredible ability to be surprised when his plans don't come together cleanly. When someone's feelings get hurt.

In her peripheral vision, she sees **him** slink in - with that same long limbed grace that communicates both his confident superiority and his utter boredom with every single facet of modern existence. In a turn of events she could not have predicted, he has sunk all the way to number three on the list of people she leasts wants to deal with today. But then she's already standing with numbers one and two.

Veronica has made it a special point to make herself scarce when the guys hang out. This is both practical and preservative, for herself and for them. Obviously she can't just disappear, though. So she's seen him around. Shared an awkward elevator or two. She had sort of hoped that prolonged exposure to Logan- who has retaken his obligatory psychotic jackass crown with aplomb- would inoculate her against him, but the cure has proven elusive. She frowns, peevishly, because what other option does she have...

* * *

Logan slopes into the Journalism room and takes in the uncomfortable tete-a-tete. He's been dreading this moment since he left her in the hallway last night. Those three are too preoccupied to notice his discomfort and by the time they acknowledge him he's slipped back into his comfortable cloak of scorn. It's amazing to him how easily those around him take in this posturing. Only one set of eyes ever seems to genuinely disbelieve. But he doesn't let himself settle on those baby blues too long.

Besides, there are other dramas to attend to. Veronica was an unholy bitch when she shattered him, when she dropped him when he needed her most. She has broken him in ways Aaron couldn't imagine in his finest sadistic dreams. But maybe she wasn't exactly wrong about the still simmering tensions he's engendered in Neptune. The gently smoking carcass of his childhood home is a pretty good indicator that the tiny blonde PI had a real point.

He's been staying with Dick, but that is proving more and more dangerous. The former Lakers Girl is doing her level best to make sure he never sees 18. Dick Sr. has nearly caught them on no less than four occasions, and Logan's recent forays to the firing range with the Casablancas boys haven't done anything to soothe his concerns.

But it's not like he can stop. Not like he can give up the seconds where he's not thinking about HER. So yeah, maybe it's a struggle to keep himself together. Every minute, every second of the day. But the rule has always been _fake it until you make it_, and he'll keep faking this indifference until it becomes the truth. As remote as that possibility feels.

Logan inserts himself into the little group, standing between Veronica and Duncan a little nearer than is strictly comfortable. He can feel her flinch and a mean little piece of himself is thrilled at how uncomfortable he can make her. Since the fight, the Duncan/Logan truce has been amicable if not amiable.

When he finally notices him, Duncan greets Logan with a genuine smile, the first in months, and Logan is more than a little thrown.

"Hey man, what's up!" Duncan says with gusto, clapping his Logan's shoulder with effortless camaraderie.

The Kanes are right, this boy has politician written all over him.

Logan fiddles with his cell phone, "Just trying to figure out this whole living situation thing. Been staying with Dick, but the places is a little… Crowded." Crowded isn't exactly what he means, but it'll do for a euphemism.

Even with their gently re-blossoming friendship, Duncan's next move is a surprise. "Dude, I have a brilliant idea! Move into the Grand with me."

Duncan's grinning broadly. "Plenty of space. No crowding. Think of the damage we could do!" Duncan's smile clearly says that this is a flawless plan and not a deeply uncomfortable situation where everyone will be unhappy.

Logan opens his mouth to say, "No, that's a terrible, stupid idea Duncan," but then he sees Veronica's face and she's clearly thinking the same thing. And the opportunity to ruin a few of those private moments between his two oldest friends, well… That's a chance too sweet to pass up. "God, man. Yeah. Thanks."

Veronica is dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open for just a second. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she gives a wry, humorless laugh and walks away. Duncan's looking confused again, but Meg is just barely smiling with something like relief. So she's not over Duncan, then. Logan glances at Meg with a knowing look, and she turns away quickly, blanking her face.

* * *

Meg spins away from Logan and Duncan and places herself at a work station near the back of the room. She can feel at least two pairs of eyes on the back of her head. She's not cut out for this cloak-and-dagger stuff. She's always worn her emotions on her sleeve. Emotional generosity, that's Meg Manning. Honesty, that's Meg Manning. Guilelessness, that's Meg Manning. Pretending to the whole school that her boyfriend is dating another girl, not so much. And even harder than pretending your boyfriend is still with his ex is pretending you don't care that you have to pretend. Her head hurts.

For a second last night, in Duncan's arms, she really did think everything was going to be fine. She'd got him back; he loved her. Veronica was a memory, a month-long mistake, a barely registered bump in the course of their relationship. And then she heard the soft sounds of Grace crying through the wall and everything crumbled again. Things had been falling apart steadily for months by then.

It had surprised her how quickly she jumped into bed with Duncan. After all, she'd been stringing Cole along at second base for over a year when they had finally broken up over the purity test. But then a lot of things were different with Duncan. She's always felt in control with Cole, and Duncan didn't afford that same kind of security. Her blood ran hotter under his gaze. It took every ounce of shame indoctrinated into her by her parents to keep her from jumping him in a dark theater.

He was soft with her, though, and she started to wish her purity score hadn't been a lie; maybe then he would try something, anything. He was pushing buttons she didn't even know she had; buttons she thought you didn't get installed until marriage. Hell, buttons she thought you had to order from the back of dirty magazines.

And maybe it was the much vaunted perfection of him. The society mavens in town had told her that he is the best there would ever be. So maybe that was it. But she didn't think so. Anyway, she didn't want to think so. He wasn't who they pretend he was. He wasn't who _he_ pretends he was. So maybe it was the mystery of him she'd been intrigued by. The iceberg analogy.

There was something he wasn't saying, and she wanted to be the one he said it to. That would prove how essential they are. If he could say it to her, she would have won him, permanently. It became a silent quest for her. It was where she set her attention when he let his gaze slip sideways into an unfocused, mile-long stare.

The night of Logan's disastrous un-birthday party she'd watched him explode, raining down blows on his car, and she'd run. Yes, she'd been upset by the violence in him, the anger. But she was more upset by the catalyst. It was Veronica who did this to him. His need for her was so powerful, so omnipresent - even after a year - that seeing her with someone else caused him literal, physical pain. How could she compete with that?

So when he came to her the next day apologizing- bewildered, stunned by his own rage- she listened to his apologies, to his heartfelt remorse. He stood on her doorstep, hangdog and ashamed, looking like a Hallmark card. She let him in because her parents weren't home, and he owed her an explanation, and because she couldn't help it. She wasn't really listening to his pleading, to his entreaties to just give him another chance because she'd made that decision when she didn't close the door in his face. She knew she'd take him back. But not without condition. She needed answers. And she wasn't going to be fobbed off with some throwaway explanation. Her expression was steely, and Duncan realized just how much he was costing her. That's all he did anymore. He took sweet, trusting girls and he turned them cold, broken, and distant.

What option did he have? He owed her, deeply, for the way she was helping him plaster over the cracks. So he told her. He told her about the epilepsy that had been such a carefully hidden secret for years. His head hung down; his eyes were closed. He was breathing shallowly. He waited. He waited for her to get up and run, and when she didn't, he opened his eyes to watch the fear appear in her own eyes.

But what he saw was relief. Stark, joyful, smiling relief. He didn't understand her reaction, but he didn't question it, afraid to pull at the seams in case the whole thing unraveled in front of him. For Meg's part, she was overcome with gratitude at this trick nature had played on Duncan. This was the secret, the thing he couldn't reveal, and she'd been entrusted with it. And it let her pretend that his affection for Veronica wasn't as deep as she knew it was. This was just a medical condition. It was the cross-wiring in his brain that made him go off that night, not the sight of his ex-girlfriend lip-locked with his best friend. And she believed that. It was so much easier.

So she took that smiling relief, and she parlayed it into a comforting embrace. And she held him beyond a hug, wrapped her hands around the contours of his jaw and kissed him, still smiling. And then she straddled his lap, all the while still smiling as she felt his breath hitch in his throat and his tentative hands slide up her back beneath the fabric of her blouse.

This was all new for Meg, and in every way that mattered this was all new for Duncan too. Veronica wasn't the only one who had something stolen from her at Shelly's party. But here he felt bright, and present, and right. Meg was looking at him like she trusted him, and _no one_ trusted him anymore. He wasn't exactly clear on why everyone looked at him like he'd shatter – they couldn't all know his secrets, couldn't all know the _same_ secrets, even – but they must know something he didn't, some reason he couldn't be left alone. He wasn't safe in his skin, but Meg pushed all that out of his mind. In her arms, he felt solid for the first time in months.

And impossibly quickly they were both naked, writhing on the couch in the formal parlor, and it felt like such an appropriate punishment for her parents. To contaminate something so apparently wholesome, to lift the stone and show the things that slithered underneath. Each thrust pushed her sweat into the fine chintz fabric of the settee and said _this is love_. Not psalms and sharp words, but skin and exultation. It had hurt when he pushed into her, tearing the thin tissues inside her, but it was an expected, perfunctory pain. An ordinary pain. And that was a welcome change from the last few months.

It was ironic that they did not get pregnant their first time together- too excited to be careful, too captivated by each other to be afraid. No, it was months later, when she was on the pill and he could barely touch her, that that happened. He'd been back from Cuba for two weeks by then, but Celeste was keeping a tight rein on him, and no one had really seen him since his return. But he was brooding, and she was simply _not Veronica_, so Celeste invited Meg over "to lift his spirits".

He hadn't wanted to come down, hadn't wanted to see her. As Celeste smiled tightly and stomped up to his room trying to cajole him into receiving his own girlfriend, Meg's stomach had rolled sickly. Too much anger, too many nerves, too much sadness. She'd puked up her guts in the downstairs powder room. She'd barely had time to rinse her mouth and throw some cool water on her face before Celeste had returned, all smiles, and ushered her upstairs.

That Meg Manning was the sexual aggressor in their relationship would have surprised everyone. At least, anyone not already knocked out by the fact that they even had a sexual relationship. But it wasn't arousal so much as desperation this time. This was the only thing she had to give him. She couldn't fix him believing that he'd killed his sister.

And she couldn't say what she really thought - that it didn't matter if he had. That – if it had happened at all – it had been an accident. That Lilly Kane was a creature of spiteful laughter and impulse; that she never would have made it to thirty anyway. That she hadn't earned the anguish everyone felt over her death. Meg couldn't say any of that. All she could do was hold him, trap him inside her, let him blank-out for just a minute. But then he was pulling away, and she knew it hadn't been enough.

When Duncan dumped her that last week of school, she'd understood. She'd hated him, but she understood. He believed he had another chance with the mythical love of his life, never mind that that girl didn't exist anymore. Never mind that she'd been replaced with this hard, caustic valkyrie who was - it should be mentioned - dating his best friend at the time.

She didn't think Duncan's romantic notions would go anywhere. Veronica was a completely new, frightening person. She was bitter and harsh and so much better suited to Logan now. And for God's sake, he'd had sex with her while she was drugged AND while he thought she was his sister! There was no way Ms. Vengeance was going to be able to get past that. Surely.

But she'd underestimated the profoundly co-dependent, insular nature of the relationships between the Fab Four. When Logan and Veronica broke up, rumors swirled through the 09ers. Shelly had heard they broke up because Logan burned down the pool. Carrie had heard it was because Mr. Mars didn't like Logan. Madison was fairly confident they'd broken up because Veronica was an unworthy, poor bitch. But the reason didn't really matter. Meg had known with a dreadful sense of surety that it was only a matter of time before Veronica and Duncan were back together.

She'd known she was pregnant for three weeks by the time they were officially a couple again. The morning she found out was spent in the bathroom, and it was debatable whether it was morning sickness or grief that caused her to repeatedly toss her cookies.

Perversely, she just couldn't tell him about the baby. She wanted him to come back because he loved her, not because he felt honor bound to help her out of their shared mistake. Because Duncan would do the Right Thing, and then he'd resent her for the rest of their lives. Of course, he would do his best to hide it; he would know she hadn't done this on purpose, but she would be added to the list of people he cared for – Celeste, Jake, Logan, even Lilly – who had prevented him from being with the love his life. She wasn't willing to give up his love for the consolation prize of being his wife.

She took her vitamins. She invented a volunteer job as a candy striper to cover for her doctor's appointments. She quit cheerleading. Just one more thing she had to give up. She faked an ankle injury for the benefit of her coach and the team. She told her parents she was uncomfortable with a risqué routine they'd been choreographing, and they seemed satisfied with that. Smug, even. Maybe their eldest was coming back to the fold a bit. Everybody thought she was withdrawing from school, from activities, from her friends because of Duncan. And of course, it was true that she hurt every time she saw him and Veronica together.

She knew she shouldn't blame Veronica. She knew she shouldn't, but that didn't keep her from doing it. There was a lot of _unfair_ going around, and Veronica would have to shoulder her share just like everyone else. It was Meg's mistake to get involved with Duncan last year, but Veronica should have known better by now. So she was cold with her former gal pal, and she congratulated herself every time they met up in the hallways and everyone left with their eyes un-scratched, their hair un-pulled. It was the most she could ask of herself in the situation.

Because this was a waiting game. Veronica wasn't the girl Duncan remembered. In fact, Meg was less and less sure that girl EVER existed, but he was going to have to figure that out himself. She wasn't going to be the wedge. And if her suspicions were correct, she wouldn't have to be. Those two were more than capable of splitting themselves up. You know, if they ever got around to being honest with each other.

And of course, she'd been right. Veronica was too different, and Duncan was stubbornly too much the same, and they had collapsed in a heap. And now Duncan was by her side, committed and terrified and asking her in low tones to meet him and Veronica after school today to discuss their options. It wasn't fixed, it wasn't better, and it wasn't enough. But it was a start.

A/N: So this one is a little bit longer! Is that good or bad? It was an awful lot of Meg, I know, but she is maybe the least explored all-but-main-characters in the show. The whole coma thing can be murder on a character's emotional arc, you know. Anyway, thanks to everybody for all the great feedback, it really helps keep me excited about the story!


	4. Chapter 4

TITLE: Missed the Bus

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 2,487

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later)

SUMMARY: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.

SPOILERS: All of season one. Makes an ungodly mess of the timeline for season two.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

_"Missed the Bus": an American idiom meaning either _

_1. to have missed or lost some opportunity or _

_2. to have failed to understand something._

CHAPTER 4 - The Meeting

The door of the office has been blockaded and the out-of-order sign posted, and Veronica's MO is so well-known that Meg feels sure that this only heightens everyone's awareness of the secret meetings going on behind the door. Still, Veronica's never been disturbed, and maybe even the janitors are too afraid of the tiny blonde dynamo to intrude on her territory.

Veronica is looking thoughtful as she listens to a sobbing Meg describe the torment her little sister has been put through by the Mannings. A frown creasing her forehead, Veronica lets out a short sigh, "I think I know somebody who can help us establish a history of abuse for Grace."

_After Lamb laughed her out of the sheriff's office that morning, Veronica had given up on any plans to punish her rapist through official channels. But giving up on punishing the asshole entirely- that wasn't in the cards. So she did precisely what Lamb should have done and presented herself to the emergency room of the local hospital. Her hands clasped in front of her she walked slowly up to the counter. Her smile, her posture, even her hand gestures appeared hesitant and apologetic. "Hello. I need to have a rape kit done."_

_Looking up from her paperwork, the admitting nurse took in Veronica's smudged make-up and general disarray. God, she looked so young! The nurse's head swiveled as she looked around for a deputy or guardian figure and came up empty-handed. It was early Saturday morning and the ER was relatively empty, so she moved Veronica into an exam room immediately and called for the female attending._

_Veronica sat on the examining table as she filled out her paper work. She left her insurance information blank and provided only a burner cell phone contact. She was never going to tell her father what happened to her. It would only break him, and she couldn't afford to lose him. Certainly not now._

_The female attending came in smiling gently and introducing herself, but Veronica didn't catch her name and didn't feel any particular desire to draw out their interaction by asking for it again. The doctor handed over a gown as she stated, "We're going to need to collect your clothes for hair and fibers. If you could just slip this on, we'll begin the exam." _

_Lying there in her backless gown, her legs in cold metal stirrups, Veronica feels more exposed and ashamed than she ever has before. This is worse, even, than waking up without her underwear. But she refuses to let herself cry. This is a fact-finding mission. This is research._

_The doctor seals up all the necessary swabs into their attendant sterile Ziploc bags and draws three vials of blood when she finally hands Veronica a small cup. "I'm giving you a dose of __Levonorgestrel to prevent pregnancy. In a couple of days we'll have the results of your blood work. Well, y__ou're done, Veronica. You can have that shower now." _

_The first good news she'd heard all day. And, finally, coming to the hospital felt like a genuinely good idea, instead of just the logically correct decision. Because the hot water in the cramped little apartment she and her father had been forced into would have run out within seconds, and she managed to waste forty-five minutes of almost scalding municipal water at the hospital._

_When she finally left the steamy confines of the shower, there was a pile of donated clothing sitting on a chair just outside the door. Veronica looked with distaste at the pink sweatshirt with puff paint unicorn and lime green spandex bicycle shorts, obviously meant for a much younger girl, but she pulled them on anyway since there was nothing else. She re-entered the exam room to see that the blandly kind attending physician had called in a colleague. _

"_Veronica, this is Dr. Walters. She's a psychologist and the head of our youth crisis center." Veronica had less than no desire to spend another moment in the hospital, so she put on her most pleasant smile, held out her hand, and said, "It's very nice to meet you." And then she turned tail and strode purposefully out of the hospital._

And that was the first time she met Dr. Walters.

_Two days later, she got a call from the hospital letting her know the results for her blood work was in. And when she arrived for her appointment, there was Dr. Walters sitting primly in a second chair. Blandly Kind Blonde Doctor, now identified by the name plate on the door as Dr. Heron, smiled nervously as she glanced between Veronica and the psychologist. _

"_Ms. Mars. Thanks so much for coming in. Well, there are a couple of things you need to know. We found traces of GHB in your blood. You were drugged." That much she had pretty much assumed. Dr. Heron shifted uncomfortably before continuing, "Your samples will be sent to the state lab, but I must warn you that without an active case number, it is likely your sample will be pushed to the back of the queue. It may take some time to get results. It's too early for blood tests to indicate if you were exposed to any sexually transmitted diseases. You'll need to come back in a few days so we can run a full STD panel." Dr. Heron quailed slightly at the furious tears that brimmed in Veronica's eyes before she determinedly blinked them away. "I'll just go set up an appointment for later in the week. I think it would be beneficial if you would talk to Dr. Walters." Heron jumped up and whisked out the door at speed._

_Veronica twisted in her chair to face Dr. Walters and smiled slightly sourly at the psychologist who sat across the room from her. "This really isn't necessary," Veronica said in a tone of voice far more confident and caustic than she felt. It was a new voice she'd been practicing in the hope that she'd be able to remake herself by the time the new year called her back to the den of iniquity that was Neptune High. "I'm fine. Learned a valuable lesson about watching my drink and not taunting the animals." _

_Dr. Walters nodded encouragingly and paused before asking, "So what's the plan?"_

_Veronica blinked blankly at Dr. Walters, who continued on, "I mean, you're a woman who came in here by herself and requested her own rape kit. I have to imagine there is more to this than idle curiosity… And why, if you don't mind me asking, did you come in here alone?" _

_Veronica's eyes narrowed to mere slits as she spit out, "The local sheriff is not my biggest fan, and the feeling is entirely reciprocated. I have absolutely no memory of the night, so even if local law enforcement were inclined to help a lowly 05er who got knocked around at an 09er party there wouldn't be much to go on. But," she paused with an acid grin, "I'm uniquely committed to solving this case. This is all groundwork."_

_Dr. Walters nodded, a terse smile on her face. "We have had similar reports of problems with local cops covering up 09er malfeasance. God knows how many sexual assaults and other crimes are going entirely unreported in such a hostile climate," Walters shook herself, her angry brow smoothing as she distanced herself from what was obviously a hot button issue for her. "And what's the end game?" _

_Veronica, folded her arms over her chest, unsure for the first time. "Make him pay. Somehow. Those details are still to be determined." _

_Walters paused as she considered Veronica's words, "And will that fix things?" _

_Veronica snorted indelicately, "It'll be a damn good start." _

_Walters steepled her fingers and threw a quick smile to the small blonde before her, "Well, seems like you've set a course of action, so I'll just say these three things: You should tell a trusted authority figure what happened…" Veronica opened her mouth in protest but Walters held up a shushing finger and continued, "You should hold off on making any big decisions or changes, and- since I don't think you're going to do either of these first two things- you should know that I'm available to you any time, day or night." Walters scribbled a cell number on her business card and handed it to Veronica. _

_Veronica took the card just as Dr. Heron walked in with a print-out detailing her appointment for later in the week. She took the paperwork, doffed an imaginary cap, and sped out of the exam room. Four days later she returned for her STD screening, and two days after that learned she'd been exposed to Chlamydia._

_She wished she could steal into of the hospital shower again, maybe scrape the top layer of skin off. Instead she just quietly filled her prescription at the hospital pharmacy and went home. It was a clue, a new clue, another piece. It was a good thing, even, a way to narrow her suspect pool. She couldn't allow herself to think otherwise._

_She saw Dr. Walters only once more, when she dropped in at the youth crisis center and donated the cast-offs of her Old Veronica wardrobe to better suit the needs of petite assault victims. _

"_I like the hair, Veronica," Walters said, approvingly, "It suits you." The doctor hesitated for just a second before giving her a small smile, "Remember, day or night."_

Veronica pulls the card out her wallet, dog-eared from its frequent removals and replacements. Veronica could never bring herself to call the number- it felt too much like capitulation- but she used to stare at the card on the rough days when she'd already scrubbed clean every desk drawer she had access to. She keys the number into her phone, and waits, "Hello, can I speak to Dr. Walters? This is Veronica Mars…"

* * *

"You have to go to the authorities with this, Veronica," Dr. Walters looks apologetic as she glances over the three miserable young people sitting in one of the crisis center's conference rooms. "Emotional abuse is notoriously hard to prove, and there needs to be a thorough examination of the living situation. Nobody is in favor of removing children from the home."

Meg seems to shrink even further within herself, and Veronica's jaw sets. "The Mannings are 09ers. You know there's no point going to cops with this." Dr. Walter's closes her eyes and massages her temples as a headache sets in.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Veronica. I can't even meet with Grace, find out her mental state, or get her examined for any signs of abuse without a guardian's permission if we don't have a court order." Dr. Walters looks back and forth between the teenagers, "Meg, your parents are people of a deep and profound faith, and they have a right to raise their daughter in that faith, including elements that seem harsh and unforgiving."

Duncan gets an angry look on his face, and opens his mouth, but Dr. Walters beats him to the punch. "I'm not saying it's not abuse, I'm just saying that the courts are loathe to get into debates about what constitutes appropriate discipline, especially when it comes to non-physical punishments, and even more especially when those disciplines are faith-based."

"So there's nothing we can do?" Meg asks flatly.

"File a formal complaint with Child Protective Services, be there for your sister, that's all you can do now," Dr. Walters says quietly.

Veronica, oddly quiet up to this point, says, "So we could have you examine Grace if we had permission from a guardian?"

Dr. Walters frowns as she answers, "Yes, but you gave me the impression the Mannings wouldn't be interested in giving permission. And you can't trick them into giving consent either. Any suggestion of fraud or duplicity in obtaining the authorization for the exam would make my testimony absolutely worthless."

"But if we had permission, you'd be willing to examine her, to give a fair and honest diagnosis of any abuse she might be suffering?" Veronica asks, her gaze intense.

Dr. Walters sighs, hopelessly aware that she is not getting through to Veronica. "Yes. You get permission, LEGALLY, from a guardian, and I will give you my honest opinion about Grace's mental and physical state."

"Thanks Dr. Walters, I'll be in touch," says Veronica as she hikes her messenger bag up over her shoulder.

Dr. Walters huffs a defeated little laugh, "Of that I have no doubt, Veronica."

Veronica heads out the door, following a demoralized Meg and Duncan as they stalk slowly out of the crisis center into the too-white corridors of the hospital.

"Thanks for trying, Veronica," Duncan sighs.

Veronica scoffs impatiently, "You give up too easily, Duncan. We'll figure something out. In fact…." Veronica suddenly stops in her tracks. "Meg, you told your parents you quit cheerleading over a slutty routine, right?"

"Yeah…" Meg replies, confused.

"Well, what made you suddenly change your mind about cheerleading? Could you have, for instance, suddenly become acquainted with a faith-based afterschool group who showed you the danger of such tawdry, libidinous pursuits?"

Meg's spine straightens as she considers Veronica's idea, "Well that does sound like me…" Duncan looks back and forth between the two blondes, utterly lost.

"You know," continues Veronica, "Grace might benefit from a program like that too. Especially with the bad example Lizzie has been setting, lately."

Meg's eyes light up with the first genuine hope she's had in months. "You might be right. I'll have to let my parents know about how helpful this group has been."

Duncan glances back and forth at the two girls like they're crazy. "What are you two talking about?!"

Veronica rolls her eyes impatiently, "If we can get Grace enrolled as part of our 'Afterschool program', we can get her away from the house. And even better, the Mannings will have to sign a waiver giving the group leader _in loco parentis_ rights in case there are any emergencies."

"Now we just need a name for our group," continues Veronica rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain. Meg stops for a moment before saying,

"What about "The Harvest of Righteousness"? Hebrew 12. My dad's favorite. 'No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a _harvest of righteousness_ and peace for those who have been trained by it.'"

Veronica nods solemnly, "Well that's almost painfully perfect." Her expression brightens as she says, "I'll get Mac to do us up a website. Cliff will help me draw up the waiver. This thing has to be a real program, in the legal sense, if we want to be able to bring her in for Dr. Walters to examine."

Veronica is lost in her own reverie as she plans out the new afterschool program and doesn't notice as Duncan and Meg wander away, their heads bowed together, towards the door. Meg stops short and urges Duncan out the door before turning. Veronica pauses when she hears Meg call out to her.

Meg is hesitant and makes two false starts before she finally manages to say, "I want to thank you for what you're doing for me and my family. I know things have been bad between us. I want you to know that I'm working on that. It's not your fault that Duncan dumped me, but I'm still going to resent you awhile. I love Duncan. He's stupid and he's hurt me, but in the end I love him and I know he loves me. We just fit into the broken place in each other. I'm sorry I can't explain it any better." Meg wrings her hands and gives Veronica a half-smile.

"I'm happy for you guys, really, cards on the table," Veronica says, returning the smile. "I know I wasn't exactly Mary Sunshine when you guys got together last year, but I never wanted him to break up with you. I think we just… Missed the people we were together. Before. Anyway, I'm sorry if our little failed trip down memory lane hurt you. It was doomed from the start," Veronica spills out in a hurried, embarrassed laugh. "You're still one of the only decent people in this town, even if you hate me now."

Meg shakes her head, "Hate is too strong a word. Tentative gal pals?"

"Deal," Veronica smiles as they shake on it.

Meg walks quickly towards the sliding glass doors and meets Duncan just outside as he throws an arm around her waist. Veronica watches them, longingly. They're not as happy as they are pretending, but at least they've got someone to hold on to. Veronica sets her shoulders, stern with herself over her sudden melancholy. She takes out her cell and pulls Cliff up out of her contacts. "Cliff, baby, opportunity of a lifetime," she says in her best used car salesman voice, "you get to do me a favor!"

A/N: So ridiculously excited about the movie! I've pitched in my 50 bucks, and I urge all of y'all to contribute if you can. Nothing is certain but death and taxes, but I'm pinning some hopes on this star anyway! And how's that for mixing my metaphors? One problem though: I had planned my own answer to what happened after the fight in the cafeteria, and now I feel like I need to get it out before the movie comes in and redefines canon! Anyway, I'll be working on that as well, so keep an eye out for the first of the series "Just Business: Start-up Costs".

And here is your first example of my naked wish-fulfillment. I always wished Veronica would have gone to the hospital after her rape even without the support of the sheriff's office. I totally understand why she didn't, and even gave lip service to the likely fact that without someone actively pursuing the case the samples might NEVER be tested, but STILL... Anyway, let me know what you thought! Reviews are the lifeblood of the fanfic experience!


	5. Chapter 5

TITLE: Missed the Bus

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 2,972

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later)

SUMMARY: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.

SPOILERS: All of season one. Makes an ungodly mess of the timeline for season two.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

_"Missed the Bus": an American idiom meaning either _

_1. to have missed or lost some opportunity or _

_2. to have failed to understand something._

CHAPTER 5 - The Bathroom

She's completing her call with Cliff when she spots something that Should Not is a sign on the bathroom door. It's her office, and her signal, but she didn't put it there. Stalking quickly toward the offending sign, she frowns, annoyed and insatiably curious, and pushes her palm against the door. At first glance there is no one there, but then an incongruously large pair of sneakers seem to occupy one stall. Then a voice rings out from behind a closed stall door, unmistakable and unwanted. The door slowly spills open, revealing his lanky frame perched on the porcelain throne.

"Your reception area blows," he says. "You might want to think about some couches. Or a chaise." He stands and makes a pinching motion with his fingers, "It is a little sweet that I remember where you hid the sign, hunh?"

"What do you want?" she says as she sets her jaw and gazes at her ex stormily.

He stalks out of the tiny stall and leans against the sinks, regarding her consideringly with no real sense of urgency, "Hunh, I seem to recall a lot about my time in here. Hey, you remember when we, uh, made out against the sink and you had your legs around my waist?"

"Stop, you'll make me blush," she drawls, feigning boredom while her pulse beats a little harder in her neck.

He doesn't seem to buy it, though his smiles falls by the smallest amount, "I'm sure your insides are blushing like mad."

That is entirely unfair– she was sure that her tone and inflection had been very convincing. She regroups and puts on her relentlessly sunny receptionist voice.

"Yet on the outside, nothing but the dewy glow of indifference. Life is just full of contradictions," she continues glibly.

Grinning, he walks towards her, "Honestly, how much easier would your life be if you were indifferent to me?"

Nothing to do now but sell the lie. She delivers the line with a show of condescending pity, "So much, since I'm really struggling. What do you want?"

Pleasantries dealt with, he launches directly into his pitch, "I don't know if you noticed that I got arrested. Super fun. This guy came forward saying he was the 9-1-1 caller the night Felix got killed. And he's attempting to ruin my life. I thought maybe you could do a little sleuthing for old times' sake."

It's such a ballsy move, asking the girl he dumped to save his sorry ass again, that she's almost impressed with him. Unfortunately, the annoyance is a little bit stronger than the admiration… She spits back with a false cheer, "Really? Could I?"

Inexplicably, his face falls, like he really thought this would work. That she owed him something.

He grimaces in a tight humorless smile, resigned, "But why would you, right?"

She shakes her head. No reason she can think of.

Logan seems to collapse into himself a bit, a short, bitter laugh on his lips, "Hey. At least I got to enjoy asking you for help."

He makes such a pitiful picture as he heads to the door that Veronica is moved to mercy despite herself. Still… "'Old times' sake'?" she scoffs as he pauses at the door, his back still to her. "Give me something I can work with."

He spins back to face her, fierce, "The witness said I threatened him. He's setting me up. I need to know why."

She just looks at him for a moment, "What's his name?"

* * *

As she walks from her impromptu office, she is curious- despite herself- about Logan's mystery snitch. In fact, "curious despite herself" accounts for about 50% of her feelings towards Logan. A further 25% is devoted to carefully concealed but potent rage. 25% is exhausting longing. But she is working on getting that number down.

Still, she realizes with not a little bit of relief, she can't work on his issues right now. Right now, she needs to round up the rest of her crack team and set out to weave a web to catch a couple who would make a congregation of Conservative Christians look like a commune full of free love hippies. She jumps in the Le Baron and hightails it to yet another alternate office: the quiet corners of a certain coffee shop.

They're already waiting for her at a back table at Java the Hut when she arrives, and her face lights into a smile at the tableau. These two are endlessly helpful and always up for an adventure. Although, it must be said, Wallace looks a little put out.

"I need your help," Veronica says, without prompting, her head at full tilt and her eyes puppy-wide.

"No" and "It's gonna cost you" erupt simultaneously from her friends' mouths.

Wallace sweeps a disapproving gaze back and forth between Veronica and Mac.

Turning her big blue eyes on Wallace, Veronica pipes up cheerfully, "Actually, it's your mom I need."

Wallace snorts, "Pull the other one, V. She may have mellowed, but she's still not one of your biggest fans. Whatever your planning, she isn't going to want to help."

Veronica pouts slightly, "I just need you to facilitate, arrange an introduction."

"And now it sounds like you are asking me to pimp out my own mother!" Wallace grimaces dramatically. "What have I told you about things which cannot be unthought!"

Suddenly serious, Veronica continues, "I think she'll help..."

But Mac breaks in before she can continue, "Yeah, let's have this argument once you've given us enough detail so we can tell what federal and state laws we'll be breaking. Also, my compensation. 100 million dollars in small, unmarked, and non-sequential bills please. Or gratis lattes until I succumb to a caffeine induced coma."

Veronica pauses for a moment before launching into her spiel. "Meg Manning asked me for my help. Her parents are abusing her little sister, and we need to find away to remove all the girls from the home. Probably permanently..."

Mac and Wallace both look stunned, but Mac recovers first. "Meg Manning? She's not real happy with you lately. Why'd she ask for your help?"

Veronica shrugs, nonchalantly. "She says I owe her, and she's not wrong."

She had considered telling them everything, unburdening herself as she sat quietly in the parking lot before this meeting, but ultimately she couldn't do it.

Not because she didn't trust them, but more because she didn't trust herself. One confession would lead to two would lead to her sobbing on Wallace's shoulder just like she had last year. And she doesn't need that. She doesn't need to collapse in on herself again. Especially over nothing. Especially over _him_.

And it's been months now. She should be over it by now. She IS over it. Really. But anyone would cry if prodded in a just-healed injury, and she doesn't need the humiliation.

Brisk efficiency has always been her calling card, and she'll continue focusing on other people's problems until she blacks out in exhaustion.

A quick glance to her friends shows that neither one believes the simplicity of her story, but Mac knows enough about the dark side of 09er domesticity to steer clear of messy questions. And Wallace knows she won't say anything, so there isn't any point in pressing. She feels guilty when she sees his expression, grumpy and hurt.

She grabs his arm to get his attention, "This is a good deed. Meg needs our help. This is the right thing to do. I'll feel better about everything if we can help her and her sisters."

Wallace looks at her carefully, judging her sincerity, and ultimately slumps in tired acceptance. He gives Veronica a small knowing smile, "No, Meg's cool, of course we need to do what we can. What's the plan."

Veronica grins as she continues, "I hope you guys aren't disappointed, but this scheme is very unlikely to get you arrested."

"Seriously? No legal action?" Mac queries.

Veronica shakes her head, "Pretty unlikely. Possible civil suit, but, again, unlikely."

Mac sighs dramatically, twirling her pen in the air, "I guess I'll just have to get my thrills on my own time. What do you need?"

"A website. And some promotional literature. For a conservative religious afterschool program. Called 'The Harvest of Righteousness'." There is a long beat. "Write that down," Veronica says as she taps emphatically on Mac's notepad as her friends state at her goggle-eyed.

"And this is a shell company? A tax dodge?" Mac asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Nope. Totally legit. Actually, it's set up as a non-profit and shouldn't have any significant overheads. Except lattes of course..." Veronica says, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"And who is in charge of this movement, exactly?" Wallace asks.

"Technically, I guess I'm the founder, but I'm hoping your mom will be the spokesperson..." Veronica murmurs.

Wallace begins scanning the room rapidly, "Is this the most elaborate set-up to a 'your mom' joke ever? Are we on some kind of hidden camera show?" He turns back to her and points an accusing finger, "Didn't you tell me you got kicked out of the church nursery for biting some kid during a Christmas service?"

V's reply is sharp, "Their evidence was circumstantial. Those charges would never have stuck! Besides," she continues, visibly trying to calm her temper, "my church career isn't on trial here. All that matters is getting the Mannings to allow a temporary legal guardian supervising the afterschool program _in loco parentis_ rights."

"My mom will never go for this. She is all about scrupulous honesty," Wallace says, muttering a little.

"Which is exactly why I need you to work your magic on her. Puppy dog eyes or something. Hey, nobody said the job would be easy, but that's why they pay you the big bucks," Veronica says, grinning apologetically.

"I'm getting paid?" Wallace cocks an eyebrow.

"No." Veronica admits.

"Thought not. Better get that oven pre-heated. I expect to be SHOWERED in snickerdoodles when this is over," Wallace says, his arms crossed over his chest defiantly.

"Done," Veronica returns as she hold out a hand to shake, smiling widely. "I love it when a plan comes together."

* * *

Forrest Gump was right. Life really IS like a box of chocolates. And right now her box is full of the deceptive chocolate coated molasses taffy ones that only masquerade as delicious treats.

She had thrown herself into work after the break-up in August, and the mindless hours of web-searching and poring over documents had done a lot to dull the constant ache. Researching Logan's mysterious 911 caller, on the other hand, does very little to distract her from her ex-boyfriend's general existence.

She shuts her eyes and sharply shakes her head, as if to loose Logan from her memory. Nothing doing. And if she's not careful, she'll give herself a traumatic brain injury trying to dislodge him.

Anyway, Tom Griffith. Her tail of him earlier in the day had turned up nothing but a stogie fetish. Local plastic surgeon and general pillar of the community. Squeaky clean. And if the office visit she had engineered was any indication, a genuinely good man and doctor. Despite the small hypocrisy of a medical man smoking cigars.

Does she believe Logan when he says he didn't stab anybody? Grudgingly, yes. Will anyone else? Probably not. And when they find out his accuser is a well-respected local doctor? That already low number drops exponentially. She lets out a long put upon sigh, and Backup pricks his ears and glances at her. Even the dog looks condescending, urging her to just get on with it.

"Fine," she mumbles resentfully as she reaches for her cell.

She had deleted his number the night he dumped her in a fit of angry spite. The next morning, she had realized her folly. Now, when he called, she would have no advance warning it was him. Still, she was far too proud to put his number BACK in her phone. So she had spent a couple weeks carefully and calmly answering blocked and unknown numbers. Dozens of cheerful pollsters and shills and one very somber Jehovah's Witness proved the whole project moot because he never called anyway.

She is on her way to her room to grab her old address book when she realizes she has plugged in his number unconsciously, with muscle memory, and she is annoyed with herself all over again. Valuable space that could have memorized Bernoulli's Principle or Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs has apparently been devoted to her asshole ex-boyfriend's phone number.

It rings through to his oh-so-charming voicemail, and she huffs with impatience, too annoyed to pay attention to his pointed platitudes. She doesn't plan on deigning to leave him a message, but she has tarried long enough that the machine has picked up. It'll be far worse to hang up at this point, so she puts on her sternest tone.

"Logan. I found your mystery caller. Give …" She pauses as a call rings through on her end. He can't bother to pick up his phone, but he can't let her leave a message either. Her lip curls at his inherent contrariness. She pushes the button to accept his call a little harder than is probably absolutely necessary.

"Logan," she bites out, "Glad you called. I found your mystery caller…"

"I'll be right over," Logan purrs over the line, and he hangs up before Veronica can let fly her barrage of assurance that that is absolutely not necessary.

She is fuming when he arrives a few short minutes later, and she does her best not to let him in. Blocking the door with her small stature and stiff arming him back, she says, "This really wasn't necessary, there's nothing I couldn't just tell you over the phone."

Logan smiles tightly, "Maybe I'd like to see the evidence for myself."

Her jaw drops at the implication that she would lie about his case. This was a goddamn favor!

"Oh screw you Echolls," she barks out loudly, her hands against his chest, pushing him back.

Logan, prepared for her assault, is immovable. "Yeah, well despite your oh-so-tender assurances that you'd help me out, I have to say I'm on tenterhooks here waiting to find out if you're not just fucking with me. _For old time's sake._" He sniffs theatrically, "Also, is it just me or do you smell like a convention of old Jewish comedians?"

Veronica's frown turns into a grimace, her teeth bared, and she slaps her hand across his mouth, silencing him. Still, she stops trying to force him back across the threshold. She pulls her hand from his mouth and casts out an impatient hand, gesturing towards the sofa and the manila folder there.

Logan sits and starts rifling through the file. It's immaculate, and thorough, and she is undeniably smug as she points at the file, "Your 9-1-1 caller, a.k.a. Tom Griffith, is Doctor Tom Griffith. He is a very expensive, well-respected plastic surgeon."

Logan scoffs ungenerously, "I don't believe it. There are no respected plastic surgeons…" and then pauses as he sees the picture. "That's not him."

Veronica is puzzled and a little annoyed at this further dig at her gumshoe abilities. "Sure it is."

Logan sits quite still. "Oh."

Veronica taps on the file, underwhelmed by his lack of response. "Dr. Tom Griffith, says there right on the picture."

Logan wavers, clearly hesitant to continue, "That's not the guy from the bridge."

Veronica's forehead creases in confusion, "What are you talking about? You told the police you couldn't identify the guy, you said the whole night was a blur."

Logan says, flatly, "I lied."

Veronica scoffs in disgust and frustration, " 'Course you did."

Defensive and embarrassed Logan rapidly tries to explain, "Well I didn't want the guy found. You know, I didn't-I didn't know what he was gonna say. I knew I was free and clear if they never found him."

From the parking lot below comes the sounds of her father's car, pulling up and then killing the engine. Veronica jumps up and goes for the door, "You have to go."

Logan calls out in protest, "I need your help, the guy's lying!"

She grits through her teeth, "Go! We'll run this down tomorrow. You can't be here when my dad gets home."

Logan stands stock still for a moment, glancing at her urgent expression, before sighing and biting out softly, "Fuck."

He slips out the door and makes it down the distant stairwell before he hears her greet her father in bright, jovial tones. He struck by an ache right down the centerline of his body that he cannot and will not examine.

Meanwhile, in the apartment, Keith pulls Veronica into a hug and kisses her on the crown of her head before pulling back, startled.

Keith cocks an eyebrow down at his daughter, "I know we had the smoking talk somewhere between the birds and the bees and the drinking and driving."

Veronica's face quirks in a smile, "Actually, I think it was more of a sentence - "Don't smoke" - and it was between the adventures of Pooh and Goodnight Moon."

His eyebrow maintains its arch, " 'Splain."

Veronica shrugs unconcernedly, "Oh, I went into a cigar shop to use the bathroom."

Keith seems appeased, but his questioning tone remains, "Cigar shop on Ocean Avenue?"

Veronica replies with some small surprise, "Yeah."

Keith shakes his head a little, "Find other facilities next time, okay? That place is notorious for dealing drugs. I tried to bust 'em about twenty times when I was sheriff."

Veronica nods, a sudden spark in her eye, and hurries off to bed with just a kiss on the cheek for her poor, bemused papa.

A/N: Okay, full disclosure - I was the one who was not invited back after I bit a kid in the nursery during Christmas service at my grandma's church. Come on, I was like 2! And my mother totally cured me of my bad biting routines as part of a Children's Behavioral Psych class she was taking the following spring. So all's well that ends well! As always, please read and review! I would threaten to bite you, but that's obviously an empty threat as you already know I've been cured...


	6. Chapter 6

TITLE: Missed the Bus

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 2,457

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later)

SUMMARY: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.

SPOILERS: All of season one. Makes an ungodly mess of the timeline for season two.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

_"Missed the Bus": an American idiom meaning either _

_1. to have missed or lost some opportunity or _

_2. to have failed to understand something._

Chapter 6 - The Stix

Mindful of what her father had said the other night about Liberty Cigars & Pipes being a drug den, Veronica had pushed a little deeper into the good doctor's squeaky clean image. True to her word, Veronica allows Logan to join her as she pulls at the one loose thread she could find: the professional reprimand for the surgery of one Danny Boyd.

Veronica stares at the beat-up little bungalow as the X-terra rolls to a stop. "This is it."

Logan scoffs unflatteringly, "The owner of this dump sprung for plastic surgery?" as he takes the key from the engine, removes his seatbelt and opens the door.

Veronica casts a critical eye over him, "Hm. Uh-uh, you're staying here."

Logan stares at her unbelievingly, but she's quick to continue, "This takes a certain subtlety." She hops out of the car and closes the door, turning to address him through the open window, "But if I need anyone punched in the face, I'll whistle for ya."

Logan sighs but doesn't argue, too familiar with her to be really surprised and to generally untrusting of her in dangerous situations to ever be at ease. He watches her stride purposefully to the door, knocking sharply.

The guy who answers is a brawler, that much is obvious. His face is scarred and his arms are covered in tattoos, but his smile is cheerful, if very slightly predatory.

"Danny Boyd?" she chirps, channeling every cheerleader she's ever met.

"Yeah?" the goon grins, cheerfully uncomprehending.

"My name is Laurie Zachs…" she begins when he interrupts in a slow drawl.

"Oh, I don't need to know your name, honey, just...tell me you're eighteen," he says, making a show of eyeing her from head to toe.

Not to be deterred, Veronica continues in her cheerful tone, "Actually..."

He interrupts again with that same fixed smile, "Oh, who's kiddin' who. Like I care."

V presses on, playing the ditz. "Okay. Uh, the reason I'm here...I was considering having Doctor Tom Griffith perform a, a surgical procedure on me and I'm one of those people who really likes to check a doctor out."

Danny looks her over, consideringly. "Doctor Griffith, huh? He's a good man, but I wouldn't go getting too crazy, 'cause you don't need very much work done, you know, I mean, besides the obvious," as he gestures vaguely at her chest.

It's a bit of a strain at this point to maintain her cheerfulness, but Danny is too dense to twig to her rising ire. "Yeah, thanks. Um, I noticed he was given a medical reprimand for a procedure he did on you, and I just wanted to see..."

Danny gives a small, rueful look, "He get in trouble for that?"

Veronica gestures at him vaguely, "I'm guessing it had to do with your face."

He laughs and points at his beat up mug, "You'd think, huh? No. Come on, I'll show ya." And he strides out the door, heading for the rear entrance of the River Stix, "Come here," he says, gesturing for her to join him in the bar and pushing aside a guy standing near the pool table. "Check it out. Take a look." He says, proudly tapping a dark, spreading stain on the green baize, "That's my blood. Can you dig that?"

Veronica eyes Danny warily. "What happened?"

Danny is unperturbed, showing off for the pretty young thing who knocked on his door, "It was a little barfight. Man, you should see the other guy. I got forty-five stitches." He pulls up his wife-beater to display a truly gnarly scar on his abdomen. "Good as new."

Veronica's gaze traces the scar down, her distaste apparent, "Plastic surgeon did that?"

With just a touch of sharpness, Danny leaps to defend Dr. Griffith. "Yeah, well, I mean, he wasn't tryin' to make it look pretty, he was tryin' to stop the bleeding. Doctor Griffith's, uh..." He stumbles, trying to find the words, "Hey, Liam! Liam!"

A man at the bar looks up slowly without particular interest, but menace radiates off him.

Danny continues unheedingly, "What do you call the good doctor, what do you say, he's kinda like a friend of the family, type thing?"

Liam's eyes narrow, but Danny continues to prattle unceasingly, pointing to a girl playing at another table, "My niece Molly, she saw the blood, she got freaked out and she called an ambulance, I got three months in County."

Veronica watches nervously as Liam approaches, but Danny never blinks in his happy little monologue, "I guess the doctor got in trouble too, huh? Oh well, all's well that ends well, right? I mean, it's a conversation piece, that's for sure."

Veronica is entirely focused on Liam as he stalks up, "Who are you?"

Danny looks a little confused, but it's almost a default expression for the poor guy, "Uh, Laurie. Her name's Laurie,"

Liam, pointedly ignoring Danny, simply repeats himself, focusing fiercely on Veronica, "Who are you?"

Veronica sticks with the story, but her alarm appears a little in her hesitancy, "Uh, I'm Laurie."

Danny still blissfully unaware of the perilous mood of his boss elaborates on Laurie's errand, "She's gettin', uh, some plastic surgery done."

With the barest hint of spite, Molly is quick to reject this fantasy. "Uh, her name's not Laurie. It's Veronica Mars, she goes to my school."

Veronica turns to Molly, her expression carefully blank, but Molly still twists the knife, "She's Keith Mars' daughter."

Veronica smiles as if embarrassed, but refuses to show her fear and laughs a little. "Go Pirates."

Liam has no trouble parsing out her true feelings and says simply, "Veronica. Well, you're about to tell me the real reason you're askin' about Doctor Griffith."

Liam leans forward threateningly and Danny finally realizes that "Laurie" was a not a choice Stix customer. He quickly backs out of the way to give Liam a free shot at V.

The foreboding head of the Fitzpatrick family towers over her and hisses his threat, "You lie to me again and you really will need a good plastic surgeon. Tell me why you're here, Veronica. What? Someone send you?"

Veronica clings to her cover story desperately, "No, it's...it really is plastic surgery. I just didn't want to use my own name because it was too embarrassing."

Liam stares at her ruefully, "You're a good liar. That's gonna make things so much tougher."

Veronica backs away from the table into the waiting arms of Danny Boyd and he grabs ahold of her. She twists and ducks, planting the electrodes of her taser in to the scarred flesh of his stomach. He drops, and Veronica makes a break for the door only to run into a handtruck full of beers that Liam has flung in her direction. She falls flat on her back and brandishing her taser, and Liam strides up to her and twists her arm until she is forced to relinquish her taser. One hand still on her bruised wrist, Liam grabs her belt and lifts her bodily onto the pool table. The breath is knocked out of her as she lands roughly on the green baize, and Liam's hand quickly closes on her throat. She pulls at his arm futilely, but she can't move him.

His face now lit up gleefully, Liam exclaims, "Oh, all right then. That was fun!" as Veronica chokes beneath the heavy press of his hand. He is inspired as he spots the tattooist in the corner, "But let's not stop there. Mark, Mark." That artists looks up from his work as Liam gestures at him, "Bring it here."

The tattoo artist moves the tattoo machine to a small rolling table and pushes it towards the pool table, finally handing the pen to Liam. "So what's it gonna be, Veronica? Hm?" he hisses as the pen buzzes angrily altogether too near her face. "Pink moon? Yellow stars? No? A green clover it is, then," and he closes in on her cheek. "I'm just gonna start in over here, and as soon as I hear something resembling the truth, I'll stop."

It's not the first time she's been so powerless, but it is the first time she's conscious for it, so she's experiencing all the raw terror she can handle. She'd been so sure that her own brio and fearlessness would protect her. But that's just stupid. Why on earth would any of the Fitzpatricks spare a second to admire her moxie when they could just as easily kill her where she stood? Threatening an impromptu face tattoo is pretty merciful, actually, given the character of her captors.

Liam's muttering something, but she can't hear him very clearly because her own blood is too loud, pounding in her ears. Still, it isn't hard to imagine his intentions as he leans in close and breathes heavily on her cheek. Then she senses a powerful unease, a tensing of Liam's muscles. Even through the pounding in her ears, she hears that voice, HIS voice, warbling distantly. Her jackass in shining armor, come to rescue the princess.

Everything's gone eerily silent, even her own jagged breathing, and she can hear him ask, tense but not really fearful to the crowd at large, "I've got 9-1-1 on the line, who can give me the address here?" Patrons laugh, but Logan doesn't seem put out. "No one?" He speaks to the faceless dispatcher on the other end of the line, "Yeah, I've got one of those ankle monitors on, does that help? Yeah. The River Stix. There's blood everywhere." And he snaps the phone shut. "Hey Veronica, let's go."

She tenses beneath Liam's heavy hand, prepared to spring up when he lets go of her throat. He's going to let loose of her throat. Surely. But then she hears Liam say, thoughtfully turning to address the bar, "Well, lads, let's see how much damage we can do in the next two minutes."

All levity if gone in Logan's tone as he shouts, "Stop!" One beat passes, then two, when she hears Logan lowly, menacing, "I've had a very bad year."

Discontented murmuring is sweeping The Stix as concerned voices call out to Logan, "Easy, boy."

Suddenly Liam's hand releases her throat and Veronica bounces up with a gasp for fresh air. Which subtly morphs into a gasp of terror when she sees her ex-boyfriend waving a hand cannon that would make Harry Callahan proud. She's moving on pure adrenalin when she grabs her bag and runs to Logan's side before rushing past him with quick panicky steps out the door.

Logan follows Veronica's path backwards without ever turning around, his eyes never leaving Liam's. They share a look that screams unfinished business, and then Logan drops the gun to his side, turns, and quickly strides out of the Fitzpatrick's domain.

She runs to the X-terra, throwing the door open and huddles in her seat. Logan is right behind her, slamming the car into gear and squealing away from their most recent brush with death and dismemberment. They are rapidly accelerating away when Veronica busts out crying, a sight very nearly more terrifying than seeing her held down and threatened with an ominously vibrating needle.

He pulls to a soft stop and turns to regard the wreck of the girl he loves, his voice soft, comforting, "Hey, it's okay."

Her sobs deepen, breathy and uncontrolled. He reaches for her, desperate to assure her she is safe, to assure HIMSELF that she is safe, "Look, you're gonna be okay."

The second he touches her, the very same instant, she throws his hand off violently and turns her angry, bleary gaze on Logan, hissing loudly, "A gun, Logan?! A GUN? What are you doing with a gun? You're gonna get yourself killed, don't you understand that?"

He's not really prepared for her anger, which is shortsighted of him. Because OF COURSE she was going to be angry at him. Still, he fumbles for an excuse, gesturing uselessly at the gun, "Look, it's...look, it's not even loaded."

She hisses back, with false enthusiasm, "Oh, I feel so much better."

He sighs and reaches past her to return the gun to its glove compartment holster. "Dick's dad gave it to me. He said given my situation..."

She doesn't let him finish, biting out sharply,** "**Given your situation, you should just move out of Neptune." She throws open the car door and jumps down, turning and gazing belligerently at him, still holding the car door, white-knuckled.

Finally roused to some annoyance, Logan pull his foot up on the seat and raises the leg of his jeans to reveal his court mandated GPS bracelet, "Yeah, well, no can do."

She just scoffs angrily, slams the door, and stamps away quickly. Her agitation and worry is apparent even in her angry steps, as she surreptitiously wipes at her tears.

He watches her walk shakily away from him, and every inch of him aches. It's exhausting, hating her and not hating her. Wanting her and not wanting her. Trying to hurt her and trying to keep her from getting hurt. And what a brilliant job he did of that, by the way.

He should never have asked for her help, never WOULD have asked for her help if he thought it would put her in harm's way like this. But he should have known this would end in blood. His problems always end in blood, dramatically. And it was selfish of him to get her involved, just to protect himself, just to allow himself a certain safe nearness. It's good she walked away, it saves him the trouble of pushing her away.

Which he knows he must. Which he knows he wouldn't be strong enough to do. Maybe she was right, all those weeks ago when she broke his heart in her tiny efficiency apartment, maybe someone IS gonna get killed. And if it's her, if she dies – hell, if she breaks a fucking nail – that's it. He dies too. Might as well cut out the middle man. It's not at all clear why the Fitzpatrick's want him dead, but now that he knows about the Doctor's Irish connection it is hard to draw any other conclusion.

It's time to come up with a new plan, one that plays to his strengths. Didn't Veronica say the Good Doctor had a daughter, a pretty young thing? Even better, a pep squad blonde. His favorite. Should be easy enough to leverage some control over a paranoid papa. Logan's stomach rolls, just a little, but his face settles into a determined, frowning mask. After all, he thinks to himself with loathing, he's done far worse to other pep squad blondes.

A/N: Boy, dark days for the LoVe fan reading this fic, hunh? Still, be at peace. Spoiler alert, they end up together. Spoiler alert, it going to get worse before it gets better. That's what their relationship dynamic is all about (Fortunately? Unfortunately? Hard to say...). And yay for the movie, which raised more than 250% times its original goal! If you donated, kudos to you! If you didn't donate, well, you still get to enjoy the movie, so it turns out pretty good for you to. As always, reviews are lovely, and I thank you for them in advance!

A/N 2: Okay, I have received some disappointed messages from readers who are annoyed with this chapter because it is too similar to the show. And they are right, it is pretty much the Stix scene from the show with a little bit of interior monologue. So what is my excuse? Well, this is is it: I felt like this was a very important scene for the season and in my own version of events it precipitates important future plot points. And it ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated! I couldn't find a clean place to break when I added the next scene, so I backtracked, made this scene the chapter, and crossed my fingers. Apologies to those of you disappointed with the chapter. I hope you'll keep reading anyway. For those of you who sent encouraging messages, I'm extra grateful!


	7. Chapter 7

TITLE: Missed the Bus

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 2,702

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later)

SUMMARY: Everybody in Neptune has secrets... But not from Veronica, who is knee deep in intrigue trying to fix everyone else's problems. Busy as she is, she almost doesn't have time to think about a certain Tall, Dark, and Juvenilely-Delinquent. Almost. Veronica is running to stand still, and it looks like she may have just Missed the Bus.

SPOILERS: All of season one. Makes an ungodly mess of the timeline for season two.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

_"Missed the Bus": an American idiom meaning either _

_1. to have missed or lost some opportunity or _

_2. to have failed to understand something._

Chapter 7 – The Prodigal Father

Alicia blinks, dumbly, terror building into a palpable pressure behind her eyes. Wallace is asking her for something. His face is serious and just a touch pleading, and she catches a few words, but mostly she is overcome with a violent rushing sound in her ears. She should be paying attention, not falling back on argument-by-proxy, but she can't focus on anything. HE was there, JUST THERE, driving down her block, shattering every last stick of the protective walls she had built around herself and her children.

Seeing him in Chicago was just bad luck. What was the likelihood that in a city of 3 million people, she'd run into the ex-husband she had been hiding from for nearly twenty years!? But once he'd spotted her, she had known that it was over. He would come, and he would take her son.

She had every right to steal away from under his nose. Nathan had been violent and reactive, so deep undercover the Colonel Kurtz would have thought he'd gone native. But now, it not's just the fear that he's dangerous that plagues her, it's the ultimate certainty that he is sane and steady and here to take her son from her. Because however logical her choice was at the time, she kept her son from his father.

And that alone might be enough to poison Wallace against her. And it is then that she realizes that she is still arguing with Wallace. She is such a natural, such a mom, that she doesn't even need to be paying attention to argue with her teenage son.

"She's 18, an adult, and she can risk her neck if she chooses. You on the other hand, you are MY son, and you are not going to throw yourself in front of a bullet. And why has this important sting operation been put in the hands of a high school student? Surely this is the jurisdiction of CPS and local law enforcement!"

Wallace sighed deeply, "I know you think this town is Mayberry, or whatever, but our local sheriff is not exactly Andy Griffith. He knows where his bread is buttered, and he isn't going to upset the apple cart on the word of some kids!"

Alicia raised an eyebrow in question, and Wallace muttered, "And yes, we studied cliché this week in English."

Wallace sighed in frustration, "I know you implicitly trust the cops or whatever, but this town has corruption at its core."

She started suddenly, her head snapping up. Her eyes are wide, almost panicked, for just a moment before they return to a stern dullness. "I'm not blind, Wallace. But that doesn't change the fact that you have no business getting involved in this mess. If the Mannings are as connected and ruthless as you say, how do you know this whole thing won't blow up in your face!?" Looking at his grim expression, her face softens and she continues, "They're her family. We don't know what's happening in her home, but I can guarantee they want what is best for their daughter. Maybe it's not our place to judge. And it's not our place to intercede. Leave it for those who know better."

Wallace brown crinkles in frustration and disgust, "And you know better. Of course. You always do."

She watches her son stomp away before getting into his car and driving away, her stomach roiling. She's spent a long time thinking she knew best. She constructed the lie of her son's parentage on her belief that she did know best. Of course, seeing Nathan has thrown the danger of that belief into stark relief. And, no she doesn't have an unshakeable faith in the cops. Not by a long shot.

* * *

That afternoon, Veronica has gathered her posse together at Java the Hut, all too aware of her friends' dangerous susceptibility to sugar and caffeine.

"I know you are busy people, so I will make this brief…" she begins, before she is suddenly cut off.

"Ya, um s'posed be ah prakis!" Wallace says emphatically. The effect is ruined somewhat by the muffin in his mouth.

Veronica rolls her eyes a bit and sends him a stern look. "Troops! Status report!" She barks, doing her best Patton.

"The website is live," Mac says, vibrating almost imperceptibly with her third complementary latte. "I should have the brochures and contracts done for Friday."

Veronica grins brightly, "Great. Wallace?"

Momentarily muffin-free, Wallace grimaces. "Mom's a little… resistant."

Veronica looks aggrieved, but not really surprised. "I know attaching my name to the project hasn't done us any favors, but we _need_ her. Our roster of trusted adult figures is extremely low. No one is going to confuse Cliff or my dad for Bible school teachers, and your mom is newish to town. She's an unknown quantity. She's the only one that can pull this off!"

Veronica just grips his shoulder encouragingly and makings a shooing motion to send him on his way, remorselessly unsympathetic to his plight. Wallace bites back into the muffin and swallows thickly, muffin and trepidation catching in his throat.

Back in his own driveway, he tries to marshal his thoughts. It was all well and good to agree to another of Veronica's schemes, Wallace thinks as he absently scrubs at the hood of the car, but it is something else completely to try and rope his mom in. Never one of Veronica's biggest fans, she had voiced her objections long and loudly after the flashing incident.

Getting together with Keith had necessarily tamed her objections somewhat, but she was still a great believer in the importance of the different estates. Let the authorities take care of the authorities' business.

And she wasn't even properly paying attention this morning! He could see the blank way she responded to his questions, replaying her same rote rejections of Veronica's dangerous lifestyle.

And that was the end of it. For now. For all his reluctance, Wallace trusts Veronica's judgment. Mostly. Sure, she had a knack for being locked in her own car trunk, or sparring with the local biker gang, or trying to face down a murder by herself, or… Hmmm. Maybe he didn't trust her judgment, actually. But he trusts Meg Manning when she says that she and her sisters are in danger. And his mom's all-consuming assurance that she knows what is best irritates him, but maybe he can use that to convince her that the Mannings are bad news…It's just a matter of finding the leverage he needs to move his mother to action…

"Wallace," a voice from behind says.

He looks up, startled by the sound of his own name, at the gentleman quietly invading the driveway. "Yeah. Who are you?"

The guy is handsome. About his mom's age. And utterly foreign. He gestures to Wallace with what turns out to be a photograph. "Take a look." It's his mom and this man, much younger.

Wallace shrugs, nonplussed. "Am I supposed to know you?"

The guy pauses for just a moment. "You sure are, Wallace. I'm your father."

He says some other stuff after that. His name, Nathan Woods. His occupation, cop. There are probably a lot of other little details that Wallace is missing, but his brain has inconveniently shut down. He can hear his own blood rushing in his years like ocean waves, and it all but drowns out whatever this man is saying.

Nathan looks at him expectantly, but Wallace can't figure out what he wants. Recognition? Some accepting word? A hug? It doesn't matter because whatever Nathan is looking for, Wallace can't give it to him. Not right now any way.

Nathan seems to recognize this and smiles stiffly, apologetically. He gives a little wave and walks back to his car.

Wallace walks back into the house, his face utterly blank. His mother smiles as she passes by with a dish.

"I was just gonna come outside to grab you," she says. "Food is ready."

His voice is strangely dull when he responds. "I'm not hungry, mama."

Alicia glances at him, concerned.

"I just met somebody out in the driveway," Wallace says quietly.

A sheen of mild panic begins to fill Alicia's field of vision. "Wallace, what's wrong?"

Wallace continues as if his mother had not interrupted. "A guy from Chicago. He said he knew you. Name Nathan Woods ring a bell?"

Something inside her collapses and his name comes out in a big breathy sigh, "Oh Wallace."

His voice is sharper now, biting, as he stands to confront her, "Is it true?"

She's quiet, conciliatory, as if approaching a wounded animal, "Baby...

He shouts, explosive, "No, just tell me if it's true!"

Her breath is coming in shallow, shaky breaths, "You were never supposed to see that man. Is he still here?" She starts to walk to the window but is pulled up short by her son's bitter response.

"That man?" he scoffs angrily, "You gotta be kidding. Why don't you just call him what he really is? So, who we put in the ground back in Cleveland? Who-who was it I cried for all those months?"

She stiffens, "That was your father."

He bursts out again, bewilderment and anger warring in his voice, "Oh yeah? 'Cos I don't see how that works, having two fathers!" He storms past, struck with a need to move.

Alicia sits in front of him, trying to force him to look at her by sitting so close. She takes a deep breath, "Nathan Woods and I got married when I was twenty-one years old. He was-

Wallace cuts her off, short. "A narcotics detective, yeah, he told me all that stuff already."

Her own voice is sharp, "No, Wallace, that's how he started out but then he went undercover on some case that he said would make his career and soon he got so deep into it, he had me fooled, unless coming home high was part of the job, unless stashing heroin and guns under my bed was all in the line of duty?"

She gets up and sits beside Wallace, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, "I hate that you had to find out like this. But if you are asking me who is your real father, that's Hank Fennel."

She dashes to the office and rifles through a file drawer, then pulls out her eldest son's birth certificate and brandishes it wildly. "You know that the day Hank Fennel asked me to marry him was the day that he signed his name on that piece of paper calling you his son and that is who your father was. And that's who he still is."

* * *

It's a lot to process, that the man you called Dad didn't own that title biologically. He'd told his mom he didn't understand having two fathers, but in truth, he DOESN'T have two fathers. He doesn't even have one. Wallace would appreciate a moment or two to his own thoughts, but it is not to be. Nathan wanders in, his gaze scanning the small convenience store until it lights on his long-lost son.

When Wallace spots him skulking in the aisles, Wallace begins to sing softly, a defiant, angry glint in his eye, "Folks say Papa was never much on thinking./ Spent most of his time chasing women and drinking./ Mama, I'm depending on you to tell me the truth./ Mama looked up with a tear in her eye and said, son/ Papa was a rolling stone. Wherever he laid his hat was his home/ And when he died, all he left us was alone."

Nathan looks just the slightest bit shame-faced, "You talked with your moms about me, huh?"

Wallace just looks at him, the ship on his shoulder apparent.

Nathan throws up his hands, defeated. "Don't worry, I'm not here to defend myself."

Wallace turns to look at him, and buoyed by this he spits out, "Truth is, I-I barely remember those days. So how can I blame her for running out on me."

Unconvinced, he asks his father, "So why are you here? What brought you to Neptune? You've had almost eighteen years to track me down."

Nathan feigns a not-totally-genuine surprise, "You mean, she never told you then?"

Wallace bites out, "Never told me what?"

Nathan's voice quiets just a touch, "I did try. For years, Wallace. It drove me crazy to think my son would grow up a stranger. Alicia's mom wouldn't tell me where she'd gone. She did promise to pass along these."

He hands Wallace a healthy stack of letter in envelops of all sizes. "Your grandma always liked me, I guess. If it weren't for her, I never would have known Alicia was pregnant."

Wallace just looks at the stack for a moment, _Return to Sender_ emblazoned on every letter, then strips off the rubber band and begins to shuffle through the letters, his hands picking up speed. "Mom says she gave you a choice. She said your job or being a father."

Nathan shakes his head sadly, "If she would have given me that choice, I would have chose you."

* * *

Alicia stares helplessly at her son, wringing her hands. This is her nightmare realized. After accosting her son at the Sac N' Pac, Nathan had preceded to hand over his big stack of letters, each inked with an undeniable rejection in thick black ink and her own handwriting.

"Please, Wallace, I want you to stay away from him. He made his choice, let him live with it."

"What choice? You ran without a word! You never gave him the chance to pick me, to pick us!"

She hisses back, "He was dangerous! I did what I had to do to protect you!"

Wallace is incredulous, "And after? The years and years when he tried to find me? You returned all his letters!"

Slightly hysterical, Alicia returns, "You already had a father! Hank Fennel was your father!"

Wallace bites out, "And I loved him. He was a great dad. But you had no right to keep me and my birth father apart. He wanted to know me!"

"I did what I thought was best!" she cries out desperately.

Quieting, Wallace mutters, "But maybe it wasn't best. Just like locking a little girl in a closet and forcing her to write out psalms isn't best. Like letting a little girl go without sleep and food to teach her penance isn't best. Even with the best intentions. Even if you really, really believe in the righteousness of your actions."

Alicia's eyes widen and then narrow, her jaw tightening in anger and sorrow. "I'm just like the Mannings then?"

Wallace says, gently, "No. Not even close. I know parents aren't infallible. I know you chose what was best for me, what was best for you before I was even born. And I don't know if you were wrong. I don't even know Nathan Woods. But I feel like I should."

"Please, Wallace," she says, pleading "Don't leave. You can't just run off, please… I'm so sorry Wallace... I tried so hard to protect you." She breathes a deep shuddery sigh, "But, in a way, maybe I'm glad he showed up. I was scared then that he'd hurt us. And then I spent the next sixteen years scared that he'd find us. And what did that accomplish… He found us anyway."

Wallace shakes his head sadly, "I'm not gonna leave. And you and Keith aren't going to run Nathan off, either. I deserve a chance to know him, see if you made a mistake keeping me from him. I'm mad, but it doesn't change the fact that you're my mom. And I love you, even if I'm not positive you know best."

The hint of a sad smile plays around the corners of her mouth. Then, her jaw sets and her eyes narrow dangerously, "They lock that little girl in a closet and don't feed her?"

Wallace appraises his mother closely, "I didn't think you were even listening…"

Alicia shakes her head with a rueful smile, "I'm your mother, I'm ALWAYS listening… And you should have said that from the first…"

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. I got kind of stuck in trying to incorporate Wallace's stuff with his bio-dad and then I got an new job and then life happened. As it so often does. Anyway, I'm hoping to be more prompt with chapters going forward, but I know better than making promises! Also, more personal wish fulfillment this chapter: Alicia and Keith never broke up! And in other news, I have posted the first chapter of my VM future fic, _Just Business_, that I teased in the past. I don't know what the schedule is going to be for these chapters, but they are almost certainly going to be longer. And that probably means they will come more slowly. Still, please check it out if you're interested!


End file.
